Bad Reputation
by The Doll in the Derby
Summary: The back story of Passion Fit, my pegasus OC. This is her story, in her own words. Please tell me how she is, you know, Mary Sue or not.


Hoofston isn't the perfect city, but it was all I knew. I loved the city, sure, but I couldn't stay there my entire life. I had acquaintances, but not actual friends. I had a good family, though, that loved me and always provided for me. Honestly, I don't think I'd ever done more than a few hours worth of chores by the time I got my cutie mark. I don't really give a fuck, I was lazy and spoiled. I was given everything, despite the cost. Yeah, I'm a selfish bitch as well. Sue me. At least I've got the balls to admit my faults and move on.

I suppose you want to hear my

story, don't you? Too fucking bad, all you get to read is the story of my mundane life, before and after I got the thing on my flank that signifies what I'm good at. Before I give you any spoilers, let me start my little story from the beginning, at least from what I remember. My memory can be pretty shitty at times.

I was born in Hoofston on April 16th, 1990. That makes me twenty three, currently. By the 1990's, Hoofston's population was skyrocketing. I lived in a fairly nice neighborhood, just south of Reliant Stadium, all of that bullshit. I was never one for concerts, rodeos, or any of that bullshit. The only fun thing about our huge, annual rodeos were the carnivals. My parents took me every year and wasted all of their money making me happy. Yeah, I was spoiled, what the fuck ever.I mean, our house was no River Oaks mansion, but it was a pretty nice place. The ponies there were pretty cool, considering it was a low income neighbourhood. I was rich but lived in a middle class home so my parents could spend more money spoiling me. See how that works?

I went to school at the Montessori of Hoofston for Juvenile Fillies. Sounds terrible, but all it is is a special school for fillies who learn a little slower than others. I'm not dumb, just a slow learner. The Montessori taught me nothing, just math, science, your usual, useless bullshit. The only valuable thing I learned was that nopony was really your friend. They just use and abuse you until you finally snap. I don't do that, though. I'm too good for all of that bullshit. The only true friend I've ever made at that school was a little hippie filly by the name of Daisy Chain. Stoner, but a damn good friend. We had most of our elementary school years together and grew pretty close. I think we might have dated, but I can't remember how many ponies, mares and stallions, that I've been with. I'm a whore for love, even though I had plenty if it.

School was always a bitch to me. I got made fun of a lot because when I was a filly, I never brushed my mane. I let it go wild. I deserved getting teased back then, but whatever. I was usually by myself, trying not to punch one of those assholes in the maw. I didn't like being teased, I really didn't. Now, it isn't such a big fucking deal. I learned to cuss in that school as well because of all the students who immigrated to Hoofston from Mexicolt. I'm not hating on Mexicolts or anything like that.

In fact, it was one of those haughty bastards that helped me get the sexy thing that resides on my flank. In Hoofston, the place to be was the skating rink. On Friday nights, everypony, young, old, good skater and bad, flooded into the rink for a few hours of fun. It was an old, dirty, rink, but it was a rink. My parents, although skeptical, agreed to give me twenty bits to spend at the skating rink. They gave me the usual "be safe, don't talk to strangers" lecture, but, as I always say, good mares rarely make history.

Once I was inside the skating rink, my cheap, rental skates in hoof, I stared at the ever- talented ponies on the rink, crossing their hooves over and skating circles around my newbie ass. I stared at them in envy and awe as they laughed and swung each other around by their hooves. I wanted to be like- no, scratch that. I wanted to BE them. I fumbled with the laces on my skates, but managed to put them on my hooves. The others, the talented foals, sneered at me when I tried getting on the rink. I tripped over my shaking hooves and landed face first.

"You should quit, dipshit. Save you some embarassment and a call home to mommy." A mare murmured in my ear, her blonde mane falling in my face, causing me to sneeze. The blonde mare stared at me and yelled something in spanish to the other skaters. They stared at me and giggled as I wormed my way around the track. I tripped, fell, and tumbled, but my stubborn ass commanded me to show up those arrogant, showoffish dicks. So I got up. The blonde bitch snickered aand tried to trip me up, but my bitchy anger got the best of me. If you've ever seen me pissed off, it's never a good thing. I narrowed my eyes and glanced down at the pattern that the other ponies were following in. Again, I'm a pretty slow learner, but something about skating on sixteen wheels seemed so...natural, after I watched the ever talented, cocky ponies. Assholes.

I sighed and accidentally bumped into a Mexicolt stallion. "Sorry!" I called, making an apologetic face. He cursed at me (I think) in Spanish and came up behind me, jamming his hips into mine with brute force.

"HEY! ASSHOLE! WHAT THE HELL WAS

FOR?!" I yelled, zooming after the colt. He snickered as I struggled to catch up. With equal force, I slammed my body against him and took hiim down. More spanish. It was really starting to piss me off. "HEY, if you've got somethin' to say, say it to my face, you...you-"

"Oi, take a look at your flank, dumbass." The colt I'd knocked the fuck out of thrust a hoof towards my flank. On that sexy bitch was a brand-spankin'-new cutie mark. It was a roller skate with a lightning bolt going through the back. I was so proud of it, I really was. I mean, come on, who wouldn't be proud to find out that your special talent is knocking the shit out of bitches that try and get in your way?

My parents.

Oh Celestia, my parents were PISSED! How could their sweet, angelic little baby get such a violent and hateful cutie mark? Because their baby thought she was grown up, that she could get by on her own, that's fucking why. I was stupid. I was a filly. I think, once in your life, everypony goes through one of those 'teenage angsty rebel emo' phase. I grew out of everything but the rebel. It sounds cliche, but look at me. I'm not your teen queen dream, sweetie, and I never will be. My parents tried to make me into one of those vile things. They made me brush my mane. It was a terrible, terrible time for me. They forced me into a different, more...sophisticated school for my middle school years. I can't remember the name. I didn't improve, not one fucking bit.

"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! This isn't me! This isn't who I am!" I screamed at them for the last time, stomping my hooves like the spoiled child I was and still proudly am. I didn't know that all they were trying to do was protect me from reality. Doesn't every parent want to try and do that? Protect their little angel from the harsh depths we know now as life? You're lucky if your parents were hard on you. Makes ya grow up. But, as I say, what's the point of growing up if you can't act childish sometimes?

Then the day came when all my little pristine, elite, faux little friends had to part with their bad influence. As sad as it is, I was getting the hell out of that place. The trouble wasn't me (why would it be? I'm a good mare! I never do anything wrong, but when I do, I take responsibility.), it was Hoofston. They packed me and my things (it took two trucks just to hold MY shit, can you believe it?), and we were out of Hoofston. Because I'm humble, I'll admit I cried, just a little bit. I mean, come on! I got my cutie mark there, for Celestia's sake! As much as I hated the fucking city, I was sad to leave it. I don't know why that kinda shit happens, but it does.

It took us four days and almost 2,000 dollars to get to Ponyville, and that's because I wanted to stop at every Buc-ee's along the way. I love that store, despite the over pricing. What can ya say? I'm a spoiled brat and I loved every minute of it. My parents thought that I'd grow up when I got there, so they continued to spoil me. They were wrong. When I was seventeen, they told me to get a job and to help pay their rent. They were running out of money quick, and needed cash. I wasn't looking forward to working, and told my parents exactly what I thought. Roller derby took up all my time. It was my number one priority, and I hadn't even found a decent team. That night, they told me to get a job or get out.

Thus, my first job as a barista started the following Monday. Lemme tell you, I actually like being a barista. I like coffee, I like the smell of a Starbucks, the atmosphere, everything. I tell ya, I don't think roller derby is really my special talent. I shoulda been a barista or coffee maker. Back when I lived in Hoofston, I was pivot (pace setter, dumbasses) for my junior derby team, and we lost every match.

You don't know disappointment like I do. You don't dwell in what you could have done better; what you could have changed so you don't have to suffer in the glares of all the teammates that counted on you to win, to be the tough soldier and pull them through. The teammates that you let down just because you couldn't cross over your hooves quite right, that you didn't hit hard enough to knock the jammer down, and, because of your idiot mistake, caused a pony to snap her ankle trying to make up for what you did. That's only half of it.

Disappointment is knowing, feeling, the hate of those that you fought so hard to impress. Feeling that they'll never want you, that it would make it better if you left and never came back. That it would give them a chance at winning if you just quit. That's disappointment. That's knowing that all you'll ever be in life is a failure, that your cutie mark means nothing because you can't prove that you have the slightest sliver of talent. That all you'll ever amount to be is nothing.

Thanks a lot, mom and dad. Thanks for telling me "Good job, honey!" When all you did was set me up for more and more failure.

Oh, right, b-back to what I was saying about Ponyville and my run of the mill job. Being a barista isn't as easy as you think, especially when you're a slow learner, like me. It was tough, trying to remember all of those recipes, but I did it! My favorite was always the java chip frappuccino. I got one every day since my parents made me start working there. You get pudgy after too many. I quite like my pudginess, thank you! I was seventeen when I dropped out of high school. It wasn't because the work was too hard, it was because I had to work. I learned quickly that nothing in this life will ever come free, and that came at the expense of my father's life.

I don't like talking about how my father died. I don't like thinking about finding my only true guy friend's body hanging from a rafter in the attic. I don't like thinking about screaming for mommy and holding her as she cried, considering taking hers and mine as well, just so we can be a big happy family again. As you can see, I am still very much alive. Not that I'm too excited about that. After my father's suicide, my mom kicked me out. Not because she didn't love me, but because I was eighteen and needed to go. I was a bum, stealing money and other such things. I didn't need to be there, but that didn't mean I wouldn't put up a damn good fight! Long story short, she won, and I was forced to live in a dingy studio apartment, which, to this very day, I still reside in. That apartment has withstood all of my fights, arguments, quarrels… you name it. Some got very violent. We'll get to that later.

Then the day came. I met this really nice, funny, charming, flirtatious stallion named Ace Swift. I was instantly charmed. A flirt, but with good intentions. We dated for quite some time. He was the first date I'd had since I was about 14 or 15, and that was only to make out with me. With him, I felt happy. I felt like I was floating on cloud nine. In my eyes, he was perfect. He was the reason the sun shone and the moon fell and all that other nasty, gushy, lovey dovey shit. Ace Swift had my heart. We'd met at the coffee shop, and being the bitter bitch I was, ignored him and simply gave him what he had paid for. He looked like some kind of player,, with his smirk and all.

"You own a very nice shop." He said smoothly. I smiled, because no one really compliments my coffee shop. They take what they need and get the hell out of Dodge. Not literally, of course. This one stayed around, and he complimented my hard work. Strange as it sounds, small shit like that means a hell of a lot to me. I never get it anymore. Of course, I'm not feminine about that kind of thing. If someone wants to compliment my hard work, then by all means, let them do it! I pretended not to notice. "O-oh, um, thank you!" I was flattered. I was a flattered, desperate teenager who whored for love. He was a very handsome stallion with a navy coat and a, I guess I could say, turquoise mane. He had that kind of charm that just warms every single part of your body. You know what I mean when I say that, right? I hope I don't have to tell you the birds and the bees. Yeah, Ace Swift turned me on just by looking at him. Imagine what it was like kissing him. Imagine, for once in your life, feeling like you're worth something. It was magnificent. I really loved that motherfucker, you know? Or maybe I didn't and I just thought that I did. Lust and love are two different things.

Our courtship after I talked to him for a while was fiery. We were constantly kissing, constantly touching and the like. We were that couple that everypony hates to look at, but we were happy that way, just in love and stupid. Pashie and Ace. We were the Bonnie and Clyde of our city, and it fucking rocked. And I mean that we were unstoppable together. Thanks to Ace, I earned my place as jammer/ pivot on my dream team, the Canterlot Derby Devils. He knew ponies. I knew perserverance. They trained me long and trained me hard. It took MONTHS for me to prove my god damn self to those fucking bitches. But, finally, the day came that Passion Fit, the spoiled little princess from Hoofston became Dixon Cider, the soldier of roller derby. They called me the soldier not because I worked the hardest, but because I was the mare that kept everypony going. I was the motivational one.


End file.
